


Smoldering

by Eleanor_Lambb



Category: Gears of War (Video Games)
Genre: Grinding, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Scattered Marcus Headcanons, Soft sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-22 11:27:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17661695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eleanor_Lambb/pseuds/Eleanor_Lambb
Summary: This wasn't suppossed to happen.





	Smoldering

**Author's Note:**

> in my spare time, i obsess over the lore of Gears of War. this was sitting in my drafts forever

"Rook," Marcus slides his hand over Carmine's jaw.

This wasn't supposed to happen. He, Cole, Dom, and Carmine had all stopped for the night, when the weather dropped to the negatives and the razorhail came down in sheets. They stopped in the forest, at a huge abandoned manor for some white - collar who probably died long ago, the vacation home left to rot. Inside was empty, but with usable fireplaces. Dom made them a stew with dried meats and withered vegetables.

There were plenty of rooms for the squad to choose from, so they all opted to sleep in their own separate chambers. Every room was heavy with dust, and they brought the blankets out to beat the dust in the foyer, before wishing each other goodnight and heaving into their respective rooms.

Marcus had noticed Carmine staring at him, and those stares made more sense when Carmine came into his room, nervous. They both were changed out of their armor. When he asked what was wrong, it took one red - faced glance for Marcus to know exactly what the problem was. He let Carmine stutter and stumble his way through his sentences, before he initiated soft, physical contact.

Carmine leans in.

The kiss is soft, slow, and Marcus can't help but notice Carmine holding his breath. He slides his hands up Carmine's arms, light and gentle, feeling his body tremor slightly. Carmine radiates a nervous warmness, it seeps through his baggy t-shirt and dispels the stale cold of the bed.

Marcus is the first to pull back, taking a slow breath. Carmine sucks in a heavy breath, wide - eyed, pupils blown. He rubs at Marcus' shoulders, arms wrapping around his neck, pressing their chests close. Before he can say a word, their weights shift, and Carmine pulls Marcus forward.

What Carmine lacked in experience, he made up in passion. He sucked on Marcus' lower lip, hands exploring his broad back. He mutters sweet words Marcus can't understand, and when Marcus parts his lips further, Carmine hungrily runs his tongue over Marcus' teeth. He still tastes like the stew the shared. Marcus props himself up on his knees and forearms, careful not to crush Carmine with his weight, but feels Carmine pull at his hips.

"Sarge, _please_ ," Carmine's voice is high - pitched, tugging on Marcus' belt. Carmine's voice hits a nerve. He's been called ' _Sarge_ ' and ' _Sergeant_ ' plenty of times in bed. He hates it.

"Carmine?" Marcus leans his forehead in the crook of Carmine's neck, ghosting his lips over his skin.

"Mmmyeah?"  
  
"It's Marcus, alright? I don't wanna hear any of that 'Sarge' shit in here," he licks and sucks a spot where Carmine's neck meets his shoulder.

Carmine nods his head fast, "OK, OK Marcus, OK," and he pulls Marcus down by the loops of his pants.

Marcus, slowly, lowers himself down on top of Carmine. Carmine grunts, pushing his hips up to meet Marcus. Marcus can feel his arousal as their hips lock. Carmine holds Marcus' shoulders, grinding upward.

"Huh," Marcus muses, "You like that, Rook?" Marcus is the size of an average Gear, tall and heavy, arms and legs like the trunks of trees. He presses more of his weight down, boxing Carmine in with his chest and arms.

Carmine solidifies this thought by pulling Marcus into a hot kiss. He moans, rutting against Marcus. When their teeth scrape, Marcus breaks the kiss.

"Rook -"

"It's B - " Carmine kisses Marcus' jaw, "It's _Ben_ , just Ben, _please_ Marcus - " he pulls at Marcus' shirt. _Off_ , he seems to say.

Marcus sits up on his knees, pulling off his tank top, throwing it off the bed. Ben is staring at him, red-faced and wide-eyed. Marcus grabs at the hem of Ben's shirt, shoving it up and over the man's chest past his pecs up to his neck. Ben's not very hairy, he's somewhat average compared to other men Marcus has been with. Meeting Ben's gaze, a shy glint in his eyes makes Marcus pause.

Marcus is used to a game of domination, his partners usually wanting to be meek, letting Marcus grab and handle where he pleases. Marcus is well familiar with playing his part in these games of intimacy. Looking down at Ben, his hands bunched into the ancient sheets, Marcus realizes that this isn't the part Ben wants to play.

"You ever done this before?" Marcus runs a rough finger down the center of Ben's chest.

A gentle shake of his head, "Not with another man."

Marcus grunts, running his hands down Ben's chest. Not his first time being another man's first. Not his first time stealing away a moment with another Gear, either. Marcus finds he lives in this hero status, everyone seemingly forgotten the things he's done fifteen years ago. There's no more ' _Marcus Fenix,'_ there's _'Sergeant Fenix_.' That leads to many people flirting, propositioning, trying to worm and inch their ways into mainly his bed. He's never really enjoyed his times with them, little more than leaves in the wind to relieve stress and pressure built up.

The way Ben Carmine looks at him though, starry - eyed and red - cheeked, is different. Different from the heavy lidded stares and crooked grins that moan and twitch and submit, that fall slack and let Marcus pick up the work. There's an almost energetic vulnerability in Ben that Marcus hasn't had the privilege of meeting in a very, very, long time.

Marcus smooths his hands over the dip of Ben's hips, coming to the belt of his loose - fitting pants. He looks up. Ben is propped up on his elbows, looking down with a wide - eyed stare.

"I've dreamed of this," Ben says, a barely audible whisper, "I'm waiting to wake up."

Marcus doesn't know how to properly react. He's never been expressive or talkative, even when he was young. He's always kept his opinions to himself and his voice low. The true disbelief in Ben's voice subtly shocks him.

Marcus leans down to press a kiss to Ben's stomach, above his bellybutton. Marcus licks lower, flattening Ben's happy trail with his tongue. He looks up, and Ben's whole chest and neck flushes pink. Marcus starts to undo Ben's belt, the sound of metal deafening in the silence.

"This part of your dreams, Ben?" Marcus unzips Ben's pants, pulling them down to the middle of the thighs. Ben has on plain grey briefs, faded from wear, a bit of moisture collected through the fabric. Ben laughs nervously, throwing an arm over his eyes.

"That was stupid, sorry," he runs a hand over his face, scratching at his stubble, embarrassed.

"It's fine. Don't worry about it," Marcus kisses the bulge through Ben's briefs.

Ben groans, falling back onto the bed. His hands grab at Marcus' shoulders. Taking this as a go - ahead, Marcus presses his open mouth to Ben's length, breathing hot air through his briefs.

A garbled moan shakes the room, and Marcus stops to pick his head up.

Marcus knows that, if Cole and Dom would hear, they would never ask or tell. But discretion is key, especially when the COG pushes the importance of repopulating. Especially for men and women like Marcus, who prefer the warmth of the same gender by their side. Might as well let Ben know now than later.

"Ben? Keep it down, alright? Dom and Cole are sleeping across the hall."

Marcus watches one flushed hand fly to Ben's mouth, head nodding. Marcus pulls Ben's briefs down, flushed cock springing free. He's a normal five inches, wide in girth, tip wet with precome.

It's rare for Marcus to do oral. Usually he's on the receiving end, partners playing the classic submissive, with all the (metaphorical) bells and whistles. There's usually no softness, no care in those acts. When Marcus does get the chance to perform oral, he's told it's (literally) mind blowing.

Marcus sits up to pull Ben's pants and briefs down lower, past his ankles, onto the floor. Ben's legs, like the rest of his body, were thick and strong, dark hair coarse around his cock. Marcus nudges Ben's legs apart, careful. Ben spreads without resistance, one hand over his mouth and one on his chest, pupils of his brown eyes blown, patient and waiting with his feet curling into the ancient mattress. Marcus rubs along Ben's thighs, easing out tension, feeling Ben's muscles flex.

Marcus brings a hand to Ben's testicles, rubbing a thumb between. Ben stifles a groan, eyes closing. With his other hand, Marcus rubs his thumb over the head of Ben's cock, matching his movements with Ben's ballsack. Marcus watched Ben's legs tremor slightly as he gave Ben a slow stroke on his cock. Barely any contact, and Ben is already a shaking mess under his hands. Marcus fondles him, kissing down his chest and stomach, inching down until his hot breath was hovering above Ben's aching length.

A desperate hand reaches down and grabs Marcus' shoulder, " _Please_ , Marcus, _please_ ," Ben chokes out. There's a shy urgency in his voice that Marcus hums in response to.

Marcus plants a soft kiss to the cockhead, hearing an exasperated sigh escape Ben's lips. He flattens his tongue under the head, swirling his tongue. It's been a while since Marcus has performed an act like this, the taste of salt and Ben's musky scent shooting through him and settling in his groin. He closes his lips, sucking on the head. Ben's back arches with a broken gasp, hand smoothing over Marcus' shoulder and bicep. Marcus breathes through his nose, taking a second to himself, before swallowing more of Ben's cock. His mouth feels full, wanted, _needed_ , rigid dick throbbing comfortably against his tongue. He bobs his head, slow, making sure his teeth don't scrape skin, working himself lower and lower until his nose buries itself in Ben's groin.

Another broken moan stops Marcus. He gives Ben a few seconds to adjust, selfishly relishing in the fullness he feels, before a rub on his shoulder provokes him into bobbing up and down, obscene and heady. He repeats this action again and again, listening to the mutters and the cute, soft moans Ben produces. The hand on his shoulder moves up, creeping up his neck to rifle through his hair. It's been a few weeks since he's cut it, so his natural curly hair is more noticeable. The fingers in his hair tighten, pulling.

"S - Marcus, Marcus, _Marcus_ \- " Ben's voice edges into desperation, fingers pulling tighter just enough for Marcus to take the hint and peel off of Ben with a filthy wet pop. A trail of saliva follows his lips, red and swollen. Marcus' pants are tight around his groin, satisfyingly untouched, and his lips fold into a tight grin.

Ben looks about the same, flushed pink, dark hair a mess, bottom lip red from biting down. They lock eyes, and Ben's cock twitches against his stomach.

Marcus crawls up, kissing along Ben's chest, scattering them along the pulse of his neck, keeping his hips up and away from Ben's.

"Marcus?"

"Hm?" Marcus hums against Ben's shoulder.

"Can you lay down? Please?" Ben's hands roam down Marcus' bare back.

Marcus grunts in response, sitting up, laying his head back against the pillows of the bed. Ben climbs on top of him, straddling his legs. Ben attempts to copy Marcus' movements, unbuckling his belt with clumsy, shaking hands. Marcus sits up on his elbows.

"It's alright, Ben, take your time," Marcus hadn't realized how raspy his voice sounded. Ben nodded, eyes so wide they threatened to bulge out of his head. Eventually, Marcus' belt came undone, and Ben quickly unbuttoned but pants and pulled him out from his underwear.

When Marcus hits the cold air, he let's a groan escape him, unashamed and loud. It's been months since he's had physical contact like this, his body sensitive and taught like a rope. Ben is staring at the head of his length, mouth hanging open. It's almost comedic, besides the nervous flit of Ben's eyes. His hand flexes, direction - less.

Marcus sits up, folding his arms around Ben's shoulders and pulling him into a kiss. Ben's mouth is dry with the bitter tang of nervousness, body warm and inviting against Marcus' chest. He groans into Marcus' mouth, reciprocating energetically, little gasps escaping him. There's a mutter of words Marcus doesn't understand, and Ben's hand closes around his cock. Marcus gasps, teeth knocking.

Marcus' voice is little more than a low rasp, " _Shit_ ," his hands roam low, grabbing Ben by his hips. Ben breaks the kiss, sucking on the skin of Marcus' neck, giving Marcus an experimental tug. Ben pushes against Marcus' chest pushing him back down into the sheets.

Marcus lets Ben handle him, push and suck where he pleases, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back. He's never given a chance to lay back, let a partner do most of the labor. When Ben kisses down his pecs, he let's himself sigh. Ben's hands aren't as rough as other Gears, who's palms were worn with the daily handling of Lancers and work. Ben's soft, warm touch strokes his length, milking him slowly.

"That's good, Ben, that's real good," he let's the praise slip without resistance. He likes complimenting his partners. Usually, they want Marcus to demean them, or get lost in the fantasy of 'Sergeant Fenix,' and don't want him to say anything at all that isn't a swear or a grunt.

Ben hums in approval, twisting his grip as he strokes. Marcus lifts his hips, running a hand through Ben's soft hair.

"Up here," he says. Ben moves up, planting a kiss on Marcus' jaw.

Marcus wraps his arms around the man's shoulders, moving them both up. Marcus pushes Ben's body slightly, letting him rest between his legs. Ben inches forward, his legs over Marcus' thighs. Marcus let's their cocks brush together, feeling the soft velvet of their lengths twitch. Ben covered his mouth, stifling a swear.

Marcus spat in his calloused hand, using it as an on - the - spot lubricant as their stroked their cocks together. His stomach coils, Ben holding his shoulders.

"Marcus, _please_ Marcus don't _stop_ \- " Ben's head jolts up, smashing his nose painfully into Marcus'. It hurts, but Marcus disregards it to quicken his pace, claiming Ben's mouth in a rough kiss.

Ben's body twitches, jolts, breaking the kiss and burying his forehead into the crook of Marcus' neck with a loud moan, hips thrusting up into Marcus' grip. As soon Marcus feels hot spurts fleck his stomach, it brings him over the edge in a crashing wave. Closing his eyes, he topples over Ben, laying him out on his back. He rides himself out, thrusting into his own hand, cocks held almost painfully tight together, letting hot come cover Ben's stomach.

There's an almost passionate quiet in the afterglow, the kind you feel after an intimate moment with a lover. He tries to push himself up, but Ben has his arms tight around him. Ben presses a line of sleepy kisses to Marcus' collarbone, breathing heavy.

"Wow," he says, voice hoarse, "Wow, Marcus, _wow_ ," the disbelief in his voice makes Marcus wonder how long this crush has existed. Ben let's go, staying flat against the bed. His light skin is perfectly flushed, covered in sweat and come, eyes half - lidded.

"That was...that was amazing, Sa - Marcus," a grin stretches across his lips. There's a pink spot where shoulder meets neck that Marcus left. He opens his mouth so speak again, but quickly closes it, a vulnerable glint in his eyes.

" _Shit_ ," Marcus thinks, much too familiar with that glint, " _Don't say it_."

"I love you, Marcus."

" _Shit_."

This isn't the first time Marcus has stolen another's heart, and he feels like an idiot for not realizing that Ben may have felt that way sooner.

Ben's soft hands roam up Marcus' biceps, satisfied smile on his lips. Marcus leans down, putting his head into Ben's shoulder.

_"Shit."_


End file.
